#they shoot horses dont they

[haveyouseenthismovie-poll]

[antigoneikk]

a single still from each of my favorite movies of all time

[shirecorn]

Tumblr keeps popping up to sell me ad free dashboard. But what it doesn't understand is that me and the ads have a sort of symbiosis at this point.

The guys from the fake gameplay trailers for a predatory mobile app are my blorbos

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing based on the film They Shoot Horses, Don't They?. In the centre, there's a disco ball, with light blue and grey highlights and also red squares. It is not completely rendered, with the desaturated marigold yellow of the background visible behind it, albeit surrounded by a grey aura. Surrounding this ball, although mostly above it and tapering off as it goes downward, there is a mass of elements from the film. It is chiefly comprised of hands, arms, legs and feet. They are either tightly worn together - such as the hands which grasp tight to themselves or others - or they hang limply, such as the legs at the bottom of the mass which are crowded by the least amount of details. These legs hang weightlessly. There's also close-ups of faces and eyes, although the expressions have no clear logic or connection. This mass is drawn with thin, grey lines. It is indiscernable where certain elements end and the others begin. The bottom left corner of the piece is left empty of these drawings, with only a small red box that has the number "67" in it, the text in a light grey.]

Inktober - Day 6 (Trek)

Film - They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (Sydney Pollack, 1969)

[vastiitas]

merry christmas, ur local crate with a bowtop on it is kicked violently open from the side and there is a snarling man with a cowboy hat belligerently hauling himself out with a gun in his hand

[sugarand-everythingnice]

Playing rdr2 minding my own business trying to have Arthur take care of and bond with his horses while running from O'Driscolls and bears

[sunshineisellipsoid]

not pictured: me going 'oh shit OH SHIT' loud enough to wake my dad up whos asleep on the couch next to me

so it turns out that you can kill the floor masters they just also keep killing you

it only takes like 5ish bomb arrows with a soldiers bow if you let them group but id died too many times to be that patient

[wernerherzogs]

some of my fave buddie fics for anon in no particular order! please mind all the ratings, tags, and warnings of these works while browsing:

plot-focused:

about the present series by Amiril

The day of the shooting, Eddie got stuck in a time loop. But that was three months ago. He's completely fine now.

boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook)

Three months later, things are mostly back to normal.

And then there's an accident.

the city is a jungle and i’m a beast by putanauhere (TRUST ME.)

“There are no wolves in Southern California,” Buck states, another bit of trivia. He just doesn’t know it’s a lie.

The Things All Come and Gone by moodlighting

“I didn’t—it’s not that I couldn’t be alone,” Buck explained, pausing to find the right words. “I just. Wanted to be here.”

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings

Evan Buckley wakes up without eight years of his memories with some guy named Eddie Diaz on his bedside. Which could mean nothing.

lonely little love dog by littleghost

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much.

kerosene by mandolare

He doesn’t— need more of Eddie. This is enough. This is plenty. This is more than anyone else has of him; he can deal with the marrow-deep want that’s begun to choke him every once in a while.

all my little words by youbetsya

Eddie: Did you just send me an email??

Buck: yeah lol

Eddie: Why…

I dont think you’ve ever emailed me actual words before. Just stuff to print when your printer is broken

Buck: did you read it?

Eddie: Not yet

Too busy trying to figure out why the fuck you’re emailing me

Buck: just read it dude 🙄

instructions on not giving up by Wildehack (tyleet)

Eddie gave up in July.

Live and (Don't) Let Die by xylodemon

The guy gets straight to the point, asking, "What do you need?" in a dull, bored voice.

"My best friend is going to die. I want that to… not happen."

"No small feat, bringing back the dead. And it comes at a cost."

It's Eddie. Buck says, "Yes," without a second thought.

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea

“Okay, but what are the rules?”

Ravi stares. “The rules for…?”

“Casual sex.”

Ravi continues to stare. It is 5:39 in the morning.

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by Talls

In which Eddie keeps secrets and Buck is incredibly normal and rational and even brave about his reaction to this.

here’s my hand, there’s the itch by signetsealed

"I wasn’t kidding when I said I could talk about Chris all night,” Eddie says. His voice is quiet and close in Buck’s ear. “But that’s not why I called.”

been lost for a while by trysetmeonfire

Eddie's wife has been dead for two weeks. There's a firefighter in bed five. These are not necessarily related facts, but Eddie will have a hard time separating them out, later.

Downward Facing Doggy Style by Survivah

Eddie and Buck pick up a new hobby while Chris is in Texas.

slaughterhouse by kithmet

Eddie announces he’s leaving. Buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness.

Choosing Joy 'Verse series by ithilien22

In which Eddie mends fences with Chris, starts something new with Buck, and navigates the complex emotions he has around his parents.

 the sweetest apparition by hyruling

Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

pluperfect by unreckless

Buck is always good for a ride to the airport. He’s good at lots of things, like being a good friend and goodbyes.

beating the horse by doitgently

Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants.

Burn a bridge, learn how to swim series by WatermelonShots (AvocadosUnderTheEaves)

In which there is some unexpected making out, some pining, one third of an existential crisis and a lot of unhelpful advice. Not necessarily in that order.

you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind.

ripples all the way down by iriswests

This is the tumultuous road to finding out what Buck truly wants, paved by pebbles.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie says softly, torn between unbearable fondness and an ache that threatens to crack his breastbone.

when everything's on fire by beartowns

Eddie and Chris move in with Buck after a fire. Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, buys a house with Eddie, and realizes he's in love. In precisely that order.

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies

The problem is—well.

Actually, backtrack for a sec. There were a few problems.

Eddie’s got a whole lot of them, lately, and maybe that was The Problem.

Something in the Air (Is Giving Me Bad Ideas) by paramountie

After Christopher comes back from Texas, Eddie makes an important decision: he is not going to blow up his life anymore.

crossed the muddy line by Anonymous

Eddie Diaz is from El Paso, Texas; a fact which accounts for both more and less than he ever expected it to.

the tortured poets department by colonoscopys

The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.

still by brewrosemilk

For the first time, Buck longs for a bullet wound to treat. Dirt to dig at. A door to break through. Something. There’s nothing.

somewhere to stand and stay by teaspoon

“What are you doing right now?” Eddie asks. He sounds distracted; Buck can tell immediately that he’s driving.

authentication by v_greyson (greyson)

"Yeah, Eddie picks the guys so I don't make stupid decisions," Buck says, flicking through menus to pick a new racetrack.

The combination of Hen munching peanuts and looking back and forth between them makes Eddie feel like he's a zoo exhibit. Best Friends, captured in the wild, still feral, exhibiting behaviors heretofore unknown to science.

"Well, good luck with - all that," Hen says pointedly to Eddie. She is definitely not talking about the video game.

keeping score by arcanaphora

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

if i said you could never touch me by marviless*

Eddie pulls back from him with a half-confused, half-concerned furrow in between his eyebrows. “Buck?”

Buck sags against the wall. “Sorry,” he says, wiping the back of his forearm against his forehead in a mixture of frustration and newfound exhaustion. “Sorry.”

Counting Pulses by tinyydancerr*

Eddie Diaz’s life is going great. He’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him.

Now his best friend is dating their new friend.

Things are going great. He promises.

porn-heavy (only a few of these are straight up pwp though):

Feel You Forever by semperama

“Is this…” Eddie meets his eyes again. “Is this new?”

a mess of my creation by Anonymous

They’re in the fucking bunk room. There’s someone snoring in the bed over by the bathroom, a good twenty feet and two beds away, and Buck doesn’t know if it’s Hen or Chimney or Bobby, but they’re in here, they’re asleep, and this is awful, this is so fucking unprofessional and if they get caught they are going straight to HR.

blood in the highs and count the stars by seachanged

“Go on,” Eddie says, nosing into the soft spot under Buck’s jaw.

Buck laughs, a little hysterically. ”You’re not serious.”

look straight ahead if you like it slow by hattalove

“This gets you going, huh?” Eddie grins, propping himself up on his elbows so he can move higher on the bed, reach the pretty pink bow of Buck’s mouth. “Devotion? You being it for me?” He stretches up toward Buck’s ear, whispers: “Monogamy?”

hang me up on your bedroom wall by eddiegettingshot

“You’re going to be a great father someday,” Eddie says eventually, because he’s worse than he used to be and Buck’s reverent eyes make him feel—they just make him feel.

“Eddie, I—”

“You are,” he repeats, firm. “Don’t you think I’d know better than anyone?

buck and eddie's red hot infidelity summer series by cranberrymoons

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not. He’s definitely not.

the moon like a spotlight by dykeries

Three months after Eddie moves to El Paso, Buck comes to visit.

this ecstasy, this forgetfulness of living by glorious_spoon

"You guess," Eddie repeats under his breath, but he sounds amused. He sets the boxes down and kicks the door shut behind him to wind through the chaos of Buck's half packed away kitchen. "You're insane."

love's not a game by thatbuddie (talktothesky)

“So that goal, huh?”

Buck groans, his hands clawing at the sheets beneath him as his toes curl up, the fire that’s been building up inside him for what feels like hours sizzling and uncontrollable in its path through Buck’s body.

i might kiss you on the back of your neck (because it’s christmas time) by sibylsleaves

Five Times Captain Diaz and Recruit Lieutenant Diaz fail to sleep together and one time they do.

would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? by brattybuckley

Evan Buckley is currently on cloud nine. 

Well–

Honey on the Vine by sirencalls

Buck wakes up to an Eddie with stubble for the first time in months and refuses to let a good opportunity to go waste.

lock me down tonight by lecornergirl

Buck tells everyone Eddie talks him into it, but when it comes to Eddie, he’s never needed much convincing.

Mind Blowing Mess by EtoileGarden

"I’d like to have a threesome. I think.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah,” Taylor eyed him for a moment, and then leaned a little further over the table, her chin in her hand. “Have you ever had one before?”

songs and poems and promises by lesbianrobin

“It’s crazy how different sex is with men,” Buck says, and everyone around him groans.

rodeo queen by okanus

“What’s the saying again? Save a horse…hm, y’know, I don't quite remember the rest of it.” Eddie can’t help the smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

“You’re an asshole,” Buck says, scowling. The tips of his ears are pink.

yes god don't speak by detectivemeer

“You’re staring.”

“What.” Eddie says. “No I’m not.” 

[iris-of-the-lambs]

if i dont meet my dnd party's quarterly milf quota they're just going to take me out back and shoot me like a lame horse

[mistiell]

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight

summary: While on a supply run with your (insanely attractive) neighbor and friend, Joel, you nearly die twice. Once to an infect, and second to hypothermia, when you fall through the ice while trying to take a short cut home to Jackson. Joel spends the night trying to warm you up and keep you alive, and the morning after, you both come to a realization.

wc: 8k (Yikes, sorry y’all)

warnings: VOMIT (For my fellow emetephobics, I put ** at the start and end of the part), Fem! Reader, canon typical violence, graphic description of killing an infected, hypothermia, near death experiences, body heat as a survival tactic, like brief indirect mention of Star Wars that might be inaccurate bc I’ve never seen it (DONT COME FOR ME, I JUST HAVENT GOTTEN AROUND TO IT), Worried and protective Joel, very very briefmention of original characters towards the end bc i needed people and didnt feel like searching the wiki, slightly jealous Joel but it passes quickly. if i missed anything lmk. NOT PROOFREAD (will likely come back to fix any mistakes later)

a/n: Hello i have returned with a fic i started last year and just finished (oops lol), and it is my longest fic to date so enjoy! This will likely have a smutty part 2 if i ever get around to it.

**NOTE: I've linked ways to help Palestine here. If you're in a position to donate anything at all, please do! If not, you can reblog the post that's linked so it gets out to more people.

---

You don’t hate Joel Miller, but you really hate him right now.

Tommy was supposed to do this run with him – something about guitar strings for Ellie that they couldn’t get awhile ago – but something had come up. Joel had come to you to ask if you’d go with him instead, and your will to please him overrode your vehement dislike of sub-zero temperatures. It’s become apparent in recent months that you just can’t say no to the man; a flaw that you are actively going to work on fixing when you get back, you decide as you trudge through what has to be double digit inches worth of snow.

“Remind me why we couldn’t have ridden the rest of the way?” You huff, lifting and heaving your heavy winter boot yet another step after him. You really wish it were safe to wear snowshoes out here. It would make travelling through this shit so much easier. Alas, while it’s great for travelling faster over snow, the same can’t be said for escaping any infected you may have the misfortune of running into out here.

He sighs, but reminds you again for the third time in thirty minutes, “Horses can’t make it through this way in the winter.”

“Couldn’t we have found a way around?”

Bemused, he shoots you a sidelong glance, “Unless you wanna walk home in the dark, no. Sun’s already too low for my likin’.”

“It’s barely afternoon, Joel.”

“Might be past that by the time we head back.”

“Might be isn’t will be.”

Shaking his head, he breathes an exasperated chuckle. You’d think he was genuinely annoyed if this wasn’t your routine. You try to vex him, he pretends it’s working. He looks fond as he shakes his head, “D’ you gotta be so goddamn argumentative all the time?”

“‘Course.” You grin puckishly, “Part of my charm.”

He snorts, lifting a tree branch and letting you duck under his arm, a little bit of snow flaking off the nettles and dusting your hair and eyelashes, “Charm ain’t exactly the word I’d use.”

“Yeah? What word would you use, then?” You ask, turning to look at him just as he ducks under the branch after you. As he straightens, you realize you’re so close, you have to tilt your head back a little to look at him.

It’s only when you’re this close to him that you’re reminded of just how broad he is. Broad shoulders, broader chest. One of his hands could encompass nearly a whole half of your face, you’re sure. Leaving the two of you in spouts of steam, you watch your breaths mingle and dance in the space between you. Humming a low rumble, his mouth twists and eyes narrow as he pretends to think, and you almost forget what you’ve asked until he replies, “Annoyance.”

Moment lost. You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you sweet.”

He chuckles, the sound rich in his chest as he continues on and prompts you to do the same. As you emerge from the treeline, you spot your destination a ways away. A small, rundown town centre. You can just barely see a sign with a treble clef peaking out from behind the large building blocking your view.

“You’re sure this area’s clear, right?” His silence unnerves you. “Right?”

“Should be.” His brow creases. He looks about as reluctant to be doing this as you are, but Ellie needs new strings and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get them before her birthday. The things you do for those you love, you suppose, “Keep a look out, just in case.”

“Yup.” You sigh, popping the ‘P’.

The town is a frigid wasteland when you make it onto the main street, storefront windows smashed to bits with snow drifts sloping up the walls and creeping inside, blowing snow whooshing up in swirls like mini tornados across the open spaces. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you traverse the street, nerves buzzing with the anticipation of danger that is ever present out here.

More walking, before glass crackles underfoot as you step through the mangled metal frame of the music store’s front door, careful to avoid the jagged pieces still jutting out of the rust-flaked steel. The two of you split up to look around, Joel making his way over to a wall that houses a couple of fair quality acoustic guitars while you survey a few shelves lined with CD’s and tapes on the other side of the room.

“Y’know guitar strings ain’t gonna be over there, right?” He calls, and you roll your eyes.

“Obviously. I figured I’d try to find something for her, too.” An album cover catches your eye and you slide it out, tilting your head uncertainly. It looks old, but you recognize some of the songs off the list on the back, “You think she’d like ‘Heart’?”

“What, the band?” You call back in confirmation, and he hums out a breath in thought as he picks over his side of the store, “I reckon she might.”

“‘Heart’ it is, then.” You murmur to yourself, slinging your pack from your shoulders and kneeling to unzip the main pocket.

Something clatters somewhere ahead of you, and you freeze, head snapping up in the direction of another door, wooden this time. You watch and wait, unblinking, palming the hilt of your pistol. Quads, hamstrings, calves wound tight and poised to move quickly, you rise slow into a half crouch, holding your breath. Something bumps again, chittering, hard enough this time that the door shudders in the corroded frame.

“Joel-!”

The door flings open and hits the adjacent wall with a BANG!, and with a guttural, inhumane cry, something flings its body at you chest first, knocking you off your feet. Your shoulders slam into the tiled floor with a hollow thud, knocking the air from your lungs and taking your ability to scream with it. You flail, forearm pressed hard against the infected’s fleshy throat as you fight wildly while trying desperately to breath, scream, something.

A large hunk of Cordyceps encompasses a quarter of it’s face, rubbery ridges stretching several inches from the surface of its skin. One wild, bloodshot eye meets yours, pupil blown and lids split so wide with hunger you can see where the yellowed white begins to curve into its skull. Your heart thrums painfully in your throat as you realize you’ve nothing to do but stare back and pray Joel gets the hell over here before the thing tears into you. Its teeth gnash, still shrieking, mouth opening so wide you can see the mottled grey of its rotting tonsils behind flashes of bloodied incisors. Its rancid breath has your stomach churning.

A strong arm wraps around its neck from behind, and then it’s off you, and you’re staring wide eyed at the ceiling listening to the cracking of bone, a far off, dying keen. The wet squelch of brain matter and rotten cerebrospinal fluid spilling out of its skull and likely splattering over the wall is muffled but just as terribly, egregiously sickening. Its only once you’re pulled up by the shoulders and spots dance across your vision that you realize that you’ve still yet to take a proper breath.

Joel takes your face between large palms, lips moving with no sound beyond the ringing in your ears. You watch his mouth wrap around your name, then the words ‘Breathe’and ‘Please’ several times over as he pats feeling into your cheeks. Over his shoulder, the thing lays motionless, its head so mangled, its just a wet mess of reds and greys and sharp fragments of bone. Your stomach rolls. **You twist out of his hold just as it contracts and spills its contents over the grimy floor, black pressing into your peripherals until you finally shut your eyes, retching. A hand smooths over your shoulder blades while the other collects any loose strands of hair and holds them back behind your nape. **

Its easier to breathe by the time you’re done, and you can finally hear his voice again, low and soft as he soothes, “S’ alright, you’re okay.”

“Oh, fuck.” You rasp, throat burning something awful as you spit the acrid taste from your mouth

“I know, I know.” He turns you to him by your shoulders as soon as you’re done and looks you over, gaze frantically jumping between your face, neck, shoulders, arms. “Did it get you?”

You blink dumbly at him.

“What?” Your mind is still catching up to the present moment, and it takes too long for you to process what he’s asked.

“Were you bit?” His voice is high, shaking and scared, his hands on your shoulders like vice grips.

“N-No.” You force out just so he’ll calm down. You’re not actually sure yet, adrenaline still prickling in your extremities, so really, you could be. Its just that seeing him so genuinely panicked is more than a little disconcerting. His hold on your shoulders starts to ache, and you squirm, “Joel, you’re hurting me.”

He lets go like he’s been burned before gently pushing your jacket and shirt collar to your right, then left as you slide your sleeves up a little to check your wrists. No bites, no scratches. You both breathe sighs of relief.

“You get the strings?” You rasp, and he looks at you incredulously.

“You almost died n’ you’re worried ‘bout the guitar strings?” You shrug, and he breathes a laugh, beard scratching under the pads of his fingertips as he rubs at his mouth, “Christ, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, I got the damn strings.” With a quiet grunt, he rises, holds out a hand, “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Clapping your hand into his, you let him hoist you to your feet.

---

Walking, freezing, joints aching, the sun looms low in the sky, stealing away with it slowly the light of day. Joel holds up two fingers to the horizon and scowls. You sigh, trek onwards, a shiver jittering down your spine and making your teeth chatter briefly, causing you to accidentally nip the tip of your tooth paste coated finger as you attempt to rid your mouth of the remnants of your earlier close call.

“You alright?” He asks for what has to be the thirtieth time as you spit into the snow and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

For the thirtieth time, despite feeling a little gross, you answer, “Fine.”

“Y’sure?” He rubs a gloved hand roughly along the length of your shoulders, warming the nape of your neck even through layers. “You’re shiverin’.”

You want to curl into his side. Slide under his arm, wrap yours round his back and squeeze so close you’d have to mirror his gait so you don’t trip over his ankle. You shake your head minutely. The cold is weakening your resolve.

“I’m okay. Just wanna get home.” You try to sound normal, like his touch isn’t setting you on fire.

He gives you a soft squeeze and retracts his arm. You mourn the loss swiftly and silently, “You n’ me both.”

The shadows around lengthen considerably as you keep going. Glancing up at the sky, the sun has dipped lower, turning the sky a dusted pink. You scowl at the realization that he was right. At this rate, you won’t make it back to Jackson before dark.

“We’re not makin’ good time.” He articulates your thought with a sigh, brow creased.

“We could pass over the lake?”

He hesitates, then makes a face like he’s smelled something rotten, “S’ not a good idea.”

“It’s been frozen over since November.” You argue. It’s nearly March now, but the snow is still crisp under your boots and the wind is cold enough that your cheeks and nose are numb. It’s the quickest way back, you know he knows that.

There’s a pause as he contemplates whether or not it’s worth the risk. There are about a hundred things that could go wrong, and you watch him mull over them all in the minute it takes for him to finally reply, “Fine. But if you fall in, you’re gettin’ yourself out.”

There’s no truth to it. He might scold you, but he’d do it while breathing life back into you, cursing you between each exhale. Your breath comes out in puffs of fog as you chuckle, “Deal.”

By the time you reach the crossing, the sky has taken on a lovely lavender hue that serves as a less lovely reminder that you’re quickly running out of daylight. Joel hums doubtfully as he eyes the ice, sizing up the distance between the two of you and the bank on the other side.

The lake isn’t very large to begin with, and the path crosses a narrow strip where the water tapers in like the neck of an hourglass. It’ll take you fifteen minutes or so to get all the way over to the other side. In the height of winter, you can even get the horses safely across. But while it’s still well below freezing, and the ice looks thick enough to jump on from here, it could be weaker further out.

Hands in his pockets, Joel frowns, “I really don’t know about this.”

“It’s fine.” Emboldened by thoughts of your warm bed and a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the other side, you step onto the ice and turn back to him, “See?”

“Mm-hm.” He hums, displeased as he follows after you carefully.

Ten minutes of walking and you’re already a little ways passed the halfway mark. Joel’s had his eyes on the dark abyss beneath you nearly the entire time. “If you keep looking down like that, you might fall.”

“N’ if I don’t, both of us might fall.” His use of ‘fall’ means something different to yours. Humming, you turn your gaze forward again.

“We’re close, now. The ice is stronger closer to the edges, right?” You already know the answer. There’s no point in asking, but you do anyway just so he’ll talk.

“Mm.” He grumbles. That stubborn crease between his brows has deepened, you find when you glance sidelong at him.

“Exactly. We’re fi-.” An ear splitting crack bounces off the ice, to the trees, and back again in a terrible echo as the ice splinters beneath you. You nearly slip in your haste to stop. The both of you go stiff as statues. You’re petrified. Joel looks doubly so.

“Joel.” You whisper, as if your voice weighs enough to be the extra bit that sends you plunging into the icy depths below. The chalky cracks are in stark contrast to the dark backdrop of the water beneath. Just how deep must it be for you to be unable to make out anything below you?

You feel like you might be sick.

“Hey. Look at me.” Tears hot with panic well in your eyes as you do as he says, and the look on his face makes it worse. You know that look. He thinks might lose you, and he’s decided he won’t let it happen. His breath trembles, but his voice doesn’t waver, “S’ gonna be alright, yeah?”

You manage a nod, and only then does he look down, then left, scouring the ice and treeline barely fifteen feet away. Back to you, and you both realize he’s to far to reach you. Second time you’ve almost died today, and this time he can’t come to your rescue.

“M-Maybe I can...” You bend your knees a little as if to move and he throws a hand out.

“Don’t-!”

The ice gives, and the fear takes up so much space you’ve barely room to take a breath before you’re engulfed in painful cold. It bites at your face as you attempt to swim up. The water muffles everything but the sound of your heartbeat as you fight against the weight of your clothes and backpack. You make the mistake of opening your eyes and find yourself swimming up, up, up through far too much nothing. It hurts to kick your legs hard enough to propel yourself, and it takes what feels like forever for you to breach the surface. You take in a heaving lungful of air as Joel calls your name.

He’s on his belly, body parallel to the edge and arm outstretched, but not close enough for you to grab just yet, “Don’t pull yourself up. Just- Just get your arms on the ice n’ kick your legs a little, alright? Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh.” It comes out jittery, jaw vibrating, teeth clacking together painfully as you hook your arm clumsily up over the lip and do as he says. The lower half of your body gradually rises until you’re level with the ice, and it’s then that he beckons you closer.

“Now scooch forward.”

You kick your legs harder and carefully pull yourself toward him until your chest is out of the water, then your torso. The ice dips a bit as you reach for his outstretched hand, and as soon as he’s got yours, he pulls hard enough to get you the rest of the way out, nearly wrenching your shoulder out of the socket. The moment you’re close enough, he wraps his arms tight around you and rolls you both away from the hole in the ice.

Panting, trembling, he keeps you there in his arms moments longer than he probably should.

“Don’t you ever do shit like that again.” His voice breaks on ‘ever’. “Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack. Too old for this shit.”

“I didn’t fuckin’ do it on pu-purpose.” You slur with lips too stiff to fit around the words right. Even your tongue feels frozen, but you think that’s probably more from the shock, “Thought y’said I’d have’ta get myself out.”

He huffs a short laugh, incredulous and utterly relieved. “Had a change a’ heart.”

“C’mon.” Carefully, he shifts onto knees before standing. He doesn’t let go of you once as he helps you to your feet, “Gotta get you warmed up ‘fore you freeze.”

He says it like there’s somewhere warm waiting for you just beyond the ice. You’re too tired to be outwardly pessimistic. “Yeah.”

You should be anxious as he shuffles the two of you to shore as quickly as is safe. When you make it there, he stops you only to peel off your mitts and scarf before ushering you forward. It’s freezing, you’re soaked. It’s a recipe for a very miserable death, you think dismally. But you trust Joel, and the tight grip he has on you makes you relax, even when you’re toeing a very fine line between life and death. You know he won’t give up on you easily. If you started spontaneously disintegrating tomorrow, he’d carve out pieces of himself just to keep you whole. There is no way in hell he’ll let a little cold take you from him.

“Y’see that?” You lift your head sluggishly to see a small opening tucked into the drop off of a very large, rocky hill. “Just gotta make it there, alright?”

You try for an ‘okay’ but all that comes out is a small hum as you slump further against him. Maybe you’ve relaxed too much, “M’ tired.”

“I know, darlin’, I know.” The pet name sparks something in you, and you try to foster it, let it liven you up a little. Darlin’ Darlin’ Darlin’ like a mantra over and over in your head. He squeezes your arm roughly, and you peel your eyes open as he pleads, “Just a little further n’ you can sit down, okay? Promise.”

Sit down, not sleep. You know you can’t sleep until you’re not at risk of freezing to death anymore. By the time you reach your destination, you can barely feel your fingers and toes.

Joel has to duck to get the two of you out of the cold and into the cave, but he manages. It’s warmer in here, you think. Although maybe its not warmth, but just the absence of the wind nipping at your skin. You’re a little alarmed that you can’t tell the difference.

Sliding down the wall to sit clumsily, you watch him as he slings both his and your packs from his shoulders. You vaguely wonder when he’d managed to take yours. The zipper clinks sharply as he sets it down and reminds you suddenly.

“The CD.”

He frowns, “Huh?”

“Ellie’s birthday gift.” You clarify through the haze rolling over your brain. “The ‘Heart’ CD. I left it.”

He blows a short huff out his nose as he reaches into his back pocket, sliding said object from the denim and giving it a waggle.

“Oh.”

Breathing a very small laugh, he shakes his head, “You’re welcome.”

Theres a short lull, although it feels like longer. He looks you over, jaw working before, “You’re gonna have to strip.”

You blink owlishly, “Huh?”

Cheeks and neck flushing a lovely rose, he clears his throat, “Your clothes are soaked. You’ll freeze if you keep ‘em on.”

“Oh.” That checks. You’re sure your face would be on fire if your blood wasn’t slush in your veins, “Right.”

Tentatively, you attempt to peel your jacket off while he unrolls his sleeping bag, but your arms won’t cooperate with you. They’re slow and hard to maneuver. It feels more like operating two arcade crane machines simultaneously, and you huff after failing to get the cuff of your sleeve unstuck from your wrist.

“Here.” He sighs, kneeling in front of you to tug it the rest of the way off and toss it aside. It’s stiff as it lands, mostly frozen. When he looks back at you, the corners of his mouth twist down, and he takes one of your cheeks in a big, calloused hand, thumbing under your eye. You were right. It does encompass nearly the entire side of your face.

“What?” You ask weakly, head lolling until the full weight of it rests in his palm.

“Nothin’.” He replies quietly, shaking his head. You watch his gaze dip to the hem of you shirt before it meets yours again, wary, “Can I... You want help?”

All you can do is nod. It’ll be quicker – safer – if he does it for you, you justify, as he carefully slips his fingers just under the hem and lifts. His knuckles feel like brands where they brush over your ribs, and you jolt reflexively.

He pulls it over your head and off your arms, “You alright?”

“F-Fine.” Just being undressed by the man you think you’re in love with. No big deal.

He gets off your boots next. Wetting his chapped lips briefly, his fingers twitch as he glances down at your jeans, “These too?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s not asking if you want them off, but rather if you want help getting them off. You swallow, then through chattering teeth, “Uh-huh.”

Wordlessly, he undoes the button, then the zipper without dawdling, strictly business. You plant your palms and use what little strength you have left to lift your butt from the floor so he has room to wiggle them down your thighs. They slip over your calves and past your ankles with ease, taking your socks with them.

“You, uh...” Again, he clears his throat. “You can get in the sleeping bag ‘fore you take off the rest.”

Drawing your knees in makes your bones ache, and you list to one side when you attempt to shift your weight forward onto your feet. He catches you roughly by the shoulders and soothes, “Easy. C’mere.”

He helps you over and into the sleeping bag, zipping you up. It takes effort, but you manage to unhook your bra, throwing it near your other clothes weakly. Joel’s got a gloomy look on his face as he scrubs a large hand over the length of your bicep. The warmth from the friction seeps through the fabric and into your skin, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

“You’re wet too.” He looks down at himself at your observation. The front of his clothes are indeed wet. The fact that he’s not near freezing is a miracle.

He hums, hand still heavy on your arm, “Only got one sleepin’ bag.”

“Body heat. S’ better for kee-keepin’ warm anyway, right?” A strange look crosses his face, then, and you feel a little silly for suggesting it. “Only if you want.”

Only if he’s comfortable.

Tentatively, he asks, “You alright with that?’

“Mm-hm.” It sounds too eager. You’re too tired to care.

He hesitates a moment, before nodding, “Alright.”

You mourn the loss of his touch briefly as he stands, moving your packs closer before sliding off his jacket. He lifts his shirt just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the soft slope of his abdomen before seemingly remembering himself.

“Don’t look.” He mumbles, suddenly shy. You do as he says, listening to the shucking of fabric, the clinking of his belt buckle, the zipper of his jeans.

The soft sound of socked feet padding quickly over stone as he rushes to escape the cold. He hisses as he slots himself in behind you.

“Christ, woman, you’re like ice.” His skin is blessedly warm as his torso presses hot against your back.

“Think I don’t know that?” You quip with no malice, body wracked with shivers that aren’t entirely to blame on the cold anymore.

Puffs of his breath fan over your ear as he chuckles, “Wasn’t thinkin’ when I said it. Sorry.”

“S’ okay.” You lift your head so he has space to stretch out his arm, and the curve of your cheek bone fits snuggly into the crook of his elbow. You find his bicep makes a very comfortable pillow, “Your arm’s gonna fall asleep.”

“You comfortable?” He asks, and you nod, “Then I don’t much care.”

You pray he can’t feel your heart palpitating in your chest as you whisper, “Okay.”

The heat radiating off of him could rival a space heater cranked up to the highest setting. It’s doing wonders, thawing your own body and slowly bringing your temperature back up to something more human, less breathing corpse. He’s stiff as a board, though. The arm that isn’t under your head must be tucked tight against his side, and his bare legs are as far from yours as he can get them in the too-small sleeping bag. You want him and his warmth closer.

“You can touch me, Joel.” He stills, and it occurs to you how that must have sounded. “I mean, you’re not going to make me uncomfortable. You can relax.”

“Alright.” His voice is a low rumble in your ear as his hand just barely creeps over your bare waist. He’d be leaving goosebump in his wake if they weren’t already there. “This okay?”

It takes a moment to find your voice.

“Yeah.” It feels funny in your throat. You swallow in an attempt to fix it, “S’ good.”

You feel him finally relax, and try not to jump when he snakes his arm – his very naked arm – around your front, forearm flush against the soft flesh of your stomach and knuckles a little more than a hairs width from the underside of your breast. If you tilted your head just a bit and strained your eyes all the way to the side, you think you could catch a glimpse of his collarbone. You’re too cozy in his hold to move.

“Feelin’ any warmer?” Eyelids fluttering, you hum contentedly. The tip of his nose smushes firm into your shoulder as he murmurs, “Can’t fall asleep yet.”

“Please?” It must come out strangely by the way his breath hitches, “M’ warm enough. Swear.”

“That’s a load a bull if I ever heard it.” He snorts. The vibrations of his voice leave your skin humming, and it coaxes you further into him, “You’re lukewarm at best.”

“Word’s got ‘warm’ in it, doesn’t it?”

He tuts at you. You can hear his smile as he grumbles, “Don’t get smart with me.”

“You love it.”

He chuckles in strange way, “I do.”

Silence. Laying in his arms comes more naturally to you than it probably should. Especially given the fact that the two of you are mostly naked. And warm. So, so warm. Fatigue weighs down your eyelids. You’ve done so much today, you deserve the rest, it whispers.

“You fallin’ asleep over there?”

“Mm-mm.” You grumble, peeling your eyes wide open for a second to wake yourself some before they slide halfway shut again of their own accord, “Some old man keeps yapping in my ear every time I drift off.”

“You watch your mouth.” He growls, joking. Something stirs in your belly. You curse yourself for being too tired and too weak to do anything about it.

You settle for teasing instead. “Or what?”

He scoffs, “Frozen half to death, but still got ‘nough brains to give me lip, huh?”

“Mm-hm.” More silence. The sound of his breathing starts to lull you away into something too far from consciousness, and you drag yourself from it woefully, “F’ you want me to stay awake, you’re gonna have to talk my ear off, cowboy.”

“‘Bout what?”

“Anything.” Everything. Even if you weren’t trying to stay awake for the sake of staying alive, you’d let him ramble about whatever he wanted as long as he’d let you listen.

“Alright.”

He talks about the things he has to do when you get back to Jackson. Apparently, his work room needs a good tidying. When that gets too dull, he tells you about the movie he and Ellie watched last week for movie night. He asks obvious questions throughout explanations to keep you awake. ‘The guy working with the small green... thing, what was his name again? Right, now where was I?’ It feels like a good few hours before he lets you start to drift off. You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, the feel of his warm body tucked in close to your back, and dream of deep space and empires beyond your comprehension.

---

By the time you wake, sunlight is pouring in through the mouth of the cave, and the snow just beyond burns a horizon into your vision when you blink your eyes open. You stretch your legs out a little only to find them tangled between Joel’s. The movement must wake him because he takes a slow, sleepy breath, and squeezes closer.

“Joel?” You breathe. He startles.

“Wh-?” His head lifts and he tightens his hold on you for a split second, head on a swivel. When he realizes there’s no threat, he sighs heavily. You shudder when his arm slides over your bare stomach as he moves to scrub a hand over his face, “Christ.”

“Sorry.”

“S’ fine. My fault for fallin’ asleep.” He drawls, voice gravelly. You shift, and he scoots back just enough to let you turn over, “Time is it?”

“Definitely past dawn.” His eyes dart behind you, and he scowls at the sun. Yours follow the lean tendon in is neck as he lets his head fall back, and you suppress the urge to trace the length of it with your finger.

He curses, and it occurs to you that he hasn’t made much of an effort to disentangle himself from you. Now of sounder mind and warmer body, you notice the hair of his legs prickling against yours. You notice your bare chest pressed close to his, the steady rise and falls of them both as your breaths sync. Eyes trail up his collar, his neck, his face. Russet eyes bore into yours, and your breath hitches. They flick down to your lips. The little space left between you is charged; static electricity that spiders over your skin and lifts the hair on your arms.

“You, uh,” His hand skims over your skin once more; gentle, tentatively affectionate, as if he’s afraid to touch you now that you aren’t in need of his warmth. It settles into the curve of your waist like it’s meant to be there. He’s still staring at your lips. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Yeah.” You breathe. He looks back up at you, then, “Much.”

“Good.” He murmurs just as soft. His eyes dip back down to your lips.

You must be dreaming. Or dead. Or some other state of being beyond reality. Because there is no way he’s leaning in. There’s no way the tip of his nose is brushing yours. There’s no way he’s close enough that you can feel each one of his exhales fanning over your mouth.

“Joel...” It comes out a sigh, barely audible. You’re not even sure you’ve actually said anything aloud until he responds.

“Tell me to stop.” The words leave his lips in a low whisper and settle heavy on yours. You hold your breath as his hand sweeps over your ribs, the length of your collar. It envelops the entire side and back of your neck, igniting your skin as he draws a feather-like line over the edge of your jaw, “Tell me to stop, n’ I will.”

Any minute now, your heart is going to burst through your ribcage. You’re sure of it. Mind blank, you can’t think of anything to say. But you don’t want him to stop. You’ll never want him to stop. A shuddered breath, and you timidly press your the tip of your nose into the apple of his cheek, lips barely a hairs width from his. He turns his face just so, and you almost jump when his cupid’s bow just barely grazes your upper lip.

Your name sounds from somewhere far away, followed by his. The two of you startle, and in an instant, the moment is gone.

“Goddamn it, Tommy.” He huffs under his breath, rolling out of your space as much as he’s able within the confines of the sleeping bag. As glad as you are that someone’s found you, the man’s timing could not be any fucking worse.

“We best get dressed.”

“Yeah.” Your cheeks warm as he begins shimmying out from next to you, gaze catching on his broad chest, the soft muscle of his stomach, the hair trailing from his abdomen down somewhere lower, beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You close your eyes before you can see anything more.

With him gone, you’re cold again. The frigid air nips at your bare chest, and you snuggle deeper into the sleeping bag until he’s done dressing. His clothes appear to be dry and fit to wear again. Yours are a different story, frozen solid in the shapes they landed in when you tossed them into a pile last night.

“Here.” Something soft plops down in front of your face, and when you open your eyes, there’s a stack of messily folded clothes on the stone floor with a sheepish looking Joel bent over his backpack a little ways away, “You can borrow those.”

Something warm and syrupy fills your chest and squishes between your ribs as you murmur, “Thanks.”

Keeping his gaze on the floor, he only hums in response. You take that as your cue to slide yourself out of the warmth of the sleeping bag. The only thing of yours that doesn’t need to be thawed is your bra, though it’s still cold against your skin as you slide your arms through the straps. Joel’s long sleeve is next. It’s soft, and smells like cedar and something uniquely him. You resist the urge to bury your nose in the fabric, too afraid he’ll decide to look up and catch you doing it.

When you’re done, you make your way to him and catch the quick once over he gives you.

“Like what you see?” You grin. He rolls his eyes.

He jerks his nose in the direction of your belongings, grumbling, “Get your stuff.”

You oblige, slinging your pack over your shoulders and stepping out into the sun after him. It blinds you, and the backs of your eyes ache as you blink to adjust them to the light. Luckily, the weather is significantly better today. No unexpected squalls, blue skies, and just a little warmer than yesterday.

“Tommy?” Joel suddenly calls out into the woods, his volume startling you bad. He grimaces, looking disproportionately apologetic, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” You scoff, grinning playfully and shaking your head, “Nuh-uh, that was totally unforgivable.” You bump his shoulder with yours, “You’re really gonna have to make up for that.”

A dampened smile turns the corners of his mouth up as he bumps you back lightly, breathing a laugh, “Not a chance.”

“Joel?” Tommy calls back, closer than before. “This way!”

He’s brought a search party. A fair sized one, judging by how many voices respond at varying distances. It’s not long until you spot two people on horseback through the trees, one with familiar curls and a newer face with sandy blonde hair.

“Joel!” Tommy sounds utterly relieved as he slides off his gelding and engulfs him in a hug, clapping him over the shoulders before pushing him back, stern, “What the hell happened? We all thought you’d gotten yourselves killed!”

“One of us almost did.” Joel mutters, shooting a look at you. “Twice.”

Tommy gawps, looks like he’s about to ask before sighing in resignation. “You can tell me about it on the way home. Ellie’s been losin’ her mind since last night. Girl hasn’t slept a wink. Had to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t take off to find y’all by herself in the dark.”

Joel tuts and shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his face, “You find our horses?”

“Yeah, Maria and Bev found ‘em early this mornin’.” He leads the two of you back towards his horse. “You’ll have ‘ta ride back with us.”

“I’ll ride with Jamie.” Jamie’s sort of new to Jackson, newer to you considering you’ve only been there about a year and he’s got a quarter more on you. He’s friendly, you like him. You have a feeling Joel holds a very different sentiment as he glowers, displeased as the man helps you up.

“Hold on tight.” He grins. Joel looks about one more dazzling smile from murdering him in cold blood.

He’s quiet the whole ride back, broody with his face set in a scowl. Tommy makes conversation here and there, asks what happened again and nearly breaks his neck when he whips his head to look at you in shock. You get similar reactions when you make it back to Jackson and explain.

“Joel!” Ellie flings herself at him and nearly bowls him over in her rush to hug him. You’re next, though with noticeably less force. You must still look a little rough, “What the hell happened?”

“We were passin’ over the lake n’ she fell through the ice.” He omits the part before that where you’d nearly gotten your face eaten by an infected, and for that, you’re thankful.

She pales, looking at you like you’ve grown an extra head, “You what?!”

“I’m fine.” You rush to reassure, glaring at Joel where he’s slipping the reigns off Tommy’s horse out of the corner of your eye, “It’s nothing to worry about now.”

“Like hell it ain’t.” He grumbles under his breath as he carefully slips the bit from the horse’s mouth and gives him a pat on the cheek, muttering a clipped ‘hey’ when you thwack his shoulder as hard as you’re willing. He gives Ellie a short, well meaning lecture that’s met with a very prompt dismissal consisting of some very colourful language as you move to help Jamie with his mare. Maria stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Jamie’s got it, you go home. I don’t want to see you working for the next couple of days, alright?”

“But-?”

She cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“Alright.” You sigh, handing Jamie the reigns. As you’re leaving, you barely catch Joel whisper a ‘thank you’ to her and whip around to glower at him. “You’re responsible for my involuntary sick leave?”

“Necessary sick leave. And no, I’m not. You’re just known to be lackin’ in the self preservation department, so we gotta have some for you.” He teases, bumping your shoulder a little in a way you think is supposed to be playful. “C’mon. I’m walkin’ you home.”

“Yeah? Finally done with your brooding?”

He clicks his teeth, “M’ not brooding.”

“Not now, but you were.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Quit it.” He breathes a laugh, shaking his head. You grin, victorious.

“I’m serious, you scowled the whole way back. Between the cold and the time it took to get here, I was a little worried your face would get stuck like that. I’d never get to see that charming smile again.”

He rolls his eyes. “How would you ever survive?”

You both chuckle, before falling into comfortable silence. You pass house after house, before taking a right onto your street. Through their front window, you can see a couple you’ve yet to meet properly stands in their living room, swaying in an embrace, gazing at each other with an appreciation you only come to grasp when you’ve nearly lost someone. The man slides a hand from her waist to her cheek, thumbing the underside of her eye, and you’re reminded of the feel of Joel’s calloused palm holding your frigid cheek.

You frown, pulling your prying eyes from the sweet scene as you near your own home, “Hey, why’d you... hold my face for a second out there?”

He flushes, clears his throat with a frown, “Your pupils were so big, could barely see any colour.”

As you reach your porch, he looks deep in thought and- Worried? Rattled, maybe. Moreso as he softly admits, “You scared the hell outta me, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.” In a rare act of bravery, you take his warm hand and squeeze, gazing at him earnestly, “I’m really sorry.”

He visibly softens, the perpetual wrinkle in his brow smoothing into something warmer, a little hesitant, dare you say even timid. You watch his gaze flick over your face before he squeezes back cautiously, “S’alright. Was my fault. Knew we shouldn’t a’ crossed that way this time a’ year.”

“Don’t blame yourself. I suggested it, it was my fault, too.” You reply, firm but gentle.

He looks down with a hum, scuffing the toe of a heavy boot over the concrete path that leads to your house. There’s a small silence, and you’re trying to find the words to assure him you were both idiots for trying to pass over that damn lake when he pipes up again.

“I meant it, before,” He smiles cautiously, unsure of himself, “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”

You laugh, glad the mood has shifted to something lighter, still holding his hand as you shake your head, “I meant it too! I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He chuckles, looking down to your linked hands. You watch his expression carefully, and something bittersweet twists his lips when he gives yours one last squeeze before pulling away.

“See you ‘round, yeah?” Your heart sinks to your stomach and hollows it out, making room for a strange disappointment. Something that feels a little like grief as you watch what could have been as it slips through your fingers and takes half a step back from your porch.

“Yeah.” It soughs out on a breath that leaves your lungs too quick, and you take another, controlled and slow. You nod, smile tight lipped, “See you around, Joel.”

You turn, make it up the wooden steps of your porch and through the threshold of your door. It shuts, and you just stand there, snow melting off of your boots and coat and soaking into the door mat below. It feels wrong, leaving whatever happened between you undiscussed, and the hollow feeling pulses achingly in your throat. There’s something there, something palpable. Something that could be real, if only you would reach for it. You wish he would have reached for it. You wish you would reach for it now. But it’s impulsive. It’s reckless. He knows that, that’s why he left it alone. It needs more thought, you rationalize.

You turn on your heel and reach for the door handle. He’s already standing there with a hand raised to knock when it opens, looking as startled as you are.

“Listen, I-.” He clears his throat, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket. It’s endearing to see him so bashful, “What happened out there... I couldn’t not say somethin’.”

There’s too much air in your chest. Your vocal cords feel more like wind chimes – unpredictable, and at the mercy of something more so. You don’t trust your breath to sway them the way you want them to.

“Yeah?” You try anyway. It drifts out soft and hangs in the air.

“Yeah.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glances over your shoulder with a sniff, then chuckles nervously, “Hadn’t actually thought about what that somethin’ would be ‘fore I did this.”

You chuckle with him; startled, shy.

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” He asks like it’s easy, but the colour in his cheeks give him away. They’re a bit too pink for it to be just a cold flush.

Your stomach does a strange flip. You’ve waited months for him to ask, too afraid to ask yourself without knowing what his answer might be. You dig your thumbnail into the side of your index finger and rejoice at the pinch. He’s real, and he’s really asking.

The sound you make is halfway between a laugh and a sigh, “This is a little backwards, isn’t it?”

He frowns. “What d���you mean?”

“I mean, usually you take a lady out to eat before you sleep with her.” You simper, your teasing tentative. He stares at you, stunned, for a long, unbelievably nerve wracking moment.

“I take it back. I’ll eat by myself.” He laughs, shaking his head. He stays standing on your porch.

“Wha-,” You gape, laughing as you thwack his arm, “Hey, you already offered, you can’t take it back now!”

He smiles so terribly, wonderfully soft. “So I take it you do, then?”

God, it has to be illegal to look at someone like that, you think. It’s got to be some sort of health hazard, the way you feel as though you might just go into cardiac arrest right here on your porch. You smile, giddy and trying your damndest to smother it into something just a little less eager, “I’d love to have dinner with you, Joel.”

“How ‘bout tomorrow night? My place?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the grin that sneaks up on you, “Yeah, that’d be good.”

He smiles back, soft and warm in a way you have a feeling is reserved for you, “Pick you up a six.”

“You’re right across the street, Joel.” You laugh, gesturing to the house maybe fifty paces from yours if you took long enough strides.

He chuckles along with you, “So?”

“So, I could just come over.”

“You could.” He shrugs a shoulder, grinning something that makes him look years younger; the ghost of a cheeky, twenty-something year old buried under as many years and then some, breathing his first breath in decades with heartbeat restored, “But what kind a’ gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you there?”

“Alright.” You smile soft, committing his expression to memory. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Countin’ the minutes.” He takes your hand again and steps in close, leaning in to press his warm lips to the apple of your cheek, beard prickling ticklishly. Good god, you can’t feel your legs. Your is heart bouncing between your ribs so quick its making you a little lightheaded. You wonder if he’s grinning because he could feel the heat rising off your skin. He squeezes your tingling fingers and lets his slide from them slow like he’s loathe to leave. “See you ‘round.”

“See you around, Joel.”

[memorycycle]

if i caught the worlds biggest fish i wouldnt tell anyone. i wouldnt even take a picture. id keep my phone in my pocket and enjoy the night out and just look at its beautiful eyes and eyebrows and ill pay for the meal and when we get out of the restaurant, i open the passenger door to my real horse as she steps in and i step in and the horse gallops off but then we hit a stop light, and some other guy pulls up next to us in a bigger horse starts revving his engine at us, and my fish is like babe dont, but im not listening and when the light turns we both peel out, its close as fuck but he hits a patch of road with low traction and his horse spins out and breaks its leg and we both watch in the rearview mirror as the guy has to get out and shoot it with a rifle and we dont talk for the rest of the night and when i wake up the next morning shes not in bed next to me and the windows open with a rope fashioned from bedsheets trailing out of it, and ill be like damn i wish i got a picture

[9-sheep-magdi]

I could be wrong, but wasnt the "main source" of the horse meat some shady rescues?

I remember a few reports about people selling their old horses to a rescue for one (1) symbolic €. Then the horses suddenly disappeared (shipped to Italy to be processed).

Thats also why medication would have been found, because horses meant for slaughter are medicated different than say a sport horse.

remember that time there was a "scare" that some beef products contained horse meat? and instead of positing it as an issue of contamination and mislabeled foods (very real issue that could endanger lives), people freaked out about "how could you dare eat horses!?" (fake issue that most people couldn't handle without making asses of themselves)

[omgwhatchloe]

sometimes you need a break from sad and need to imagine modern au gang having a nice picnic in which they did not invite dutch or micah (who is convincing dutch hes being betrayed right now)im thinking

dutch: they’re probably all out there now…talking to those agents…taking the bribes…

then the camera cuts to arthur sketching bill and cain, who are playing at the other side of the field

hosea is aggressively applying sunscreen to sean because he wont put it on himself

lenny is reading and accidentally eating all the baby tomatoes that are meant for sandwiches

tilly and marybeth are making daisy chains while karen is asleep

john and jack are also asleep and john has wrapped his arms around jack, whos on his chest (abigail has taken 105 pictures and counting). they’ll be knocked out the whole time, they ate so much cookies and cheese and chips/crisps and cakes and sandwiches it was inevitable.

charles is laying on arthur and watching him sketch. hes not asleep though, hes just resting his eyes, trust me.

molly applied her sunscreen and is now getting the tan she deserves. she wonders why she feels so much calmer without dutch there.

there were horses in the nearby field so. you know what kierans up too.

after being attacked with sunscreen (hes irish and ginger, its for his own good) seans making his eighth sandwich with all the toppings. hes also telling everyone about when him and his da would go for picnics, and they find it quite wholesome so they dont stop him until he gets tearful.

sadie is eating strawberries and praying a horse kicks kieran or the farmer shoots him.

javier brought his guitar but hes eating, so he’ll play later. he cant even tell a story because his mouth is full of so much cookie.

miss grimshaw is protecting the food with her life from the pesky ants, seans legs when he constantly gets up and down, and lenny.

strauss is making the most ungodly food combos, he also had a picnic 20-30 years ago that ended in absolute trauma, so he’ll be sure to fill the gang in on that. lovely change from seans story.

uncle wasn’t invited. hes asleep somewhere in the field because he came anyway. he also took a box of cookies. (arthur thinks hes going crazy because he swore he bought another box but its nowhere to be found)

reverend is admiring the scenery, he finds it a good distraction for the early days of staying sober.

abigail is playing photographer for her kind of big instagram following shes not meant to have.

[first-edition]

Apologize

Daryl Dixon x fem!reader smut

sum- Daryl yells at you making a big deal of you going outside the walls by yourself after just getting you back after everything and insults you, but he didn’t mean it and wants to prove it to you. cw- set in early season 5 in Alexandria, SMUT 18+ THEMES AND LANGUAGE MINORS DNI, read at your own discretion, pin v, unprotected, biting, marking, confession, fluff angst, oral (f) reciving, clit play.

“Hey..” you turn around seeing Daryl leaning against the frame of your door. 

“hi..” you say. 

Earlier that day Daryl was real to you. You have gone out for a run and brought back three horses that had escaped. But that's not what bothered him, not you being cheered on, or praised…that you went alone without telling everyone and when you came back it was more than a relief for daryl. Almost losing you before then. 

“YOU DONT THINK BECUASE YOUR FUCK’N STUPID! DADDIES LITTLE GIRL GREW UP WITH EVERYTHING SHE COULD EVER WANT!” He yells at you to push him back from you he hobbles back. 

“I DID THIS! FOR YOU! FOR CAROL! EVERYONE! I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF!” you yell back. He shoots an arrow at you, it zips past your head and sticks into the post of the house. You stop. Staring at him. 

“It ain't walkers i'm worried about! It's other people!” he huffs. 

“Maybe it's just you!” you spit back instead of pulling the arrow out your break it in half and throw the half to him before storming off back to your house. It's a bit awkward leaving him there in front of everyone but that's the price you pay. Later that day Carol went up to Daryl asking him why he yelled at you. 

“She's stupid.” he says to her as he throws on a new shirt

“No she's not.” Carol says sitting on the bedside. 

“She's very smart. She saved us before everything she saved you..” she trails off he sighs leaning against the dresser. 

“Yeah..” he looks down. 

“She got us those horses by herself..they are big horses. Alexandria is safe daryl..she's safe." Carol says. 

“Yeah not safe enough if I couldn't stop what happened to her..the governor, the prison..the hospital.” he says. 

“That wasn't your fault.” she says. 

Dayrl signs shaking his head no. knowing it wasn't but still blames himself. 

“I-i couldn't save beth..barley her.” he says carol stands to him walking up to him tilting her head to the side. 

“You like her..i know that you like her alot..” carol leads. 

“But you only feel like shit for something out of your control when you love them..” she ends up looking at daryl. He avoids her eye contact. 

“I didn't mean those things I said to her,” he replies. Carol nods to him. 

“I know.. But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. You're gonna lose her if you don't.” she says. Before she can reach out and place a hand on her shoulder he rubs his bow and vest and walks out of the room then the house down the street about two houses over to you. He stops at the porch knowing he more than welcome in as carol also stays in the home with you. 

He sucks it up and walks up the porch and onto the home he walks up the stairs knowing you're most likely in your room. The door is closed but a small knock from his knuckles hitting the wood is all he needs as permission to open the door. 

“It's open.” your voice says expecting carol so your sweet demeanor sounds through. Dayrl opens the door, seeing you sitting by the window. He sighs leaning against the frame. You spot him, your demeanor changing as you look at him. He sets his cross bow down on the side. 

“Hey..” he speaks. 

“Hi..” you answer back. 

It's quiet for a few seconds before Daryl speaks.

“Sorry..for what i said to ya… callin you stupid, and all you aint stupid.” he says his eyes flicking away from you. You look away from him. He picks up his bow and walks into the room closing the door and letting the bow re-rest on the wall. 

“When i couldn't find you this morning…just..reminded me of everythin’ else you know…losing the prison, beth. And then i thought of back when the governor took you glenn and maggie, i-...” his voice breaks as he cuts himself off looking down his fingers twitching in anxiety. 

“I just..i can't do that you know..i lost merle i can't be losing you too.” he says you look up to him. 

“I named the horse after you..” you say he frowns in confusion. 

“What I used to call you, squirrel.” you say he chuckles nodding. You get up from your spot walking up to him. 

“I love you..y/n...i cant be losing something like that.” he says 

“Merle would always tell me not to get attached to things but i could never really help-” you cut him off wrapping your arms around him  pressing your lips to him. You've always known Daryl crushed on you, the way he does things for you, purposely looking for things you'd like. And you liked him too.

His arms wrap around you kissing you back deeply. You don't break it until you need to speak back to him. But you don't get to speak before his lips are firmly back on yours. You pull off his vest and his hands move under your shirt. The rough skin against your bare torso sends a shiver up your body.

He pulls you until his arms lifting you with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist holding onto him as he pulls off your shirt before laying you back onto the bed. He pulls off his shirt. You sit up connecting your lips again. Bringing him down to you. His weight against you is more arousing than anything. The way his hands feel up the sides of you wanting more contact. His kisses move down to your neck as he nips and sucks. 

Making sure to keep you marked, even going as far as pulling back to make sure there's marks. Something for people to ask about, something he can watch you blush about when carol comes home and asks. Something for people to know who you are. 

“Fuck.” he grunts out as the buldge in his pants tightens the fabric. Your hands reaches down to him palming him through his jeans. You gasp when he pulls your hand away from him pinning both above your head as he continues to devour your skin.

“D-daryl” you gasp out as he finishes the bruises on your cleavage. He looks down to you blushing, waiting, needing. He lets go of your hands and immediately your touch is back on him, the weight of any hurt falling off his shoulders as you pull him back into you. 

You peck his lips before going for his belt, undoing it. 

“Nah..nah.” he says you look up at him confused. 

“Let me take care of you huh. After everything..just..” he trails off as you look up into his eyes, your hands resting on either side of his face comforting. You look at him seeing his eyes are welling with tears. 

“Hey..” you say softley. He doesn't answer you, just presses his lips back to yours laying you back down against the plushness of the bed. He kisses down your stomach pulling your jeans from you. The pink undies you and carol found on a spare run one day cause his cock to twitch in his pants. 

He lets his hands and fingers run along your thighs and waist feeling you under him. He kisses your thighs and legs. He worships you all over before removing your panties and diving into you. More feral than a walker he holds your thighs against his head as his tongue drives into you lickign you up. Your hand finds his hair and you grip into it. A guttural moan escapes Daryl's throat sending the vibration through your core causing you to squirm from him. 

“Ah..f-fuck..dayrl!” you gasp out as your release comes closer and closer to you. His grip on your thighs doesn't let up as he pulls you closer to his face burying himself into you.

You entangle yourself into his hair as you reach your peak, lapping up what left of your shaky state daryl sits up his lips shining with your arousal. You pant as you watch him shift taking off his belt and lowering his pants his cock springs free. The gasping is cut short when he continues to kiss up your body, his touch running along your skin. 

You sign out his name wrapping your arms around him. 

“Say it again.” he mumbles. You giggle as he adjusts himself rubbing his tip up and down your slit. 

“D-daryl.” you huff out. 

“Fuck..again.” he speaks deeply as he rubs against you. 

“Dayrl.” you moan out as he begins to enter you. Your nails dig into his shoulder as he puts into you. 

He moans in your neck as your legs wrap around him. His hand presses against your thigh keeping it up around his hip. 

“Fuck..i love you…i love you so fucking much.” he huffs out. 

“Yes. ah dayrl..fuck..i love you..ah god.” you moan gripping onto him as he ruts into you. He roughly thrusts up into you making you loudly moan out and bite down against him he grunts out continuing the pace making you both louder. You just hope Carol isn't downstairs. How embarrassing. 

You grip onto him like your life depends on his as he continues for you both. You pant against him as that familiar feeling builds up. He pulls back from you staying connected, he pulls your legs up and onto his shoulders fucking you deeper. He moans and grunts and all the sound he makes causes your pussy to clench around him in your release. He brings his hand down to your core wanting more from you somehow and begins to rub your clit, easily finding it and playing you like an instrument, the music, your voice as you call out for him. Only a few more thrusts have him sending himself over the edge. He drops your legs kindly, but fast and pulls out of you he puts into his fist cumming against your tits and stomach painting you. 

He takes a moment to recover before telling you to stay. He walks to the side where a towel rests from your earlier shower and cleans you off. Not what you’d expect. He cleans you carefully and with love. Not just one swipe and done. Kissing your skin as he does. 

“Here.” He says , helping you up, you stand before him only for your knees to give you. He catches you as you go limp. You both chuckle. 

“M Sorry” he chuckles as you press your lips against his in a kiss before speaking again. 

“It's okay.” you smile brightly. He moves the covers to the side before picking you up and setting you back into the bed. He turns to put his clothes back on. 

“no..no.” you say, taking a hold of his arm. 

“Stay.. please.” you say. He nods without hesitation and gets into the bed neck to you he pulls you close to him as you rest against him his heat radiating to you the warmth spreading through your body as you snuggle into him. Almost immediately you are fast asleep out. But Daryl watches you the slow rise and fall of your chest, your sleepy face perfectly rested. Soon finding sleep himself after a few hours of watching you. 

—---

Morning comes and you wake up alone but a shirt is over your body in courtesy. You sigh and get up pushing your hair back. You look around the room remembering the chaos of last night. You pull the covers off you and get up now, able to stand however a slight shake to your legs makes you smile. You notice the towel is also gone but not his bow. It still rests on the side wall. You frown. You walk out of your room and down the hall down the stairs. 

You smell cooking as you walk into the kitchen seeing Carol setting up breakfast. 

“Morning honey.” She smiles at you. 

“Hi..” you say awkwardly as she give you ‘the smile’ 

“Dayrl come by last night?” she asks glazing at your shirt. You look down seeing Daryl's black sweater that he was wearing last night. 

“Um..y-yeah. He apologized.” you reply she nods, setting down a plate of food. 

“I know.” She smiles at you and blush creeps up against your cheeks. 

“You didn't hear, did you…” you say, pulling at the sleeve. 

“No. but I sent him over.” She says you feel a hand on your lower back and lips on your cheek. 

“Hey.” Daryl speaks as he comes into your view. He wears what he normally does and he has his bow. His hair is damp so he must have been in the shower when you woke up. 

“H-hi.” you say bashfully. 

“Stay safe, yeah?” Carol says to him knowing he's late for the morning run.

“Yeah.” he says to her before turning to you leaning into you. 

“I love you.” he says with his blue eyes looking at you. The embarrassment leaves as you smile up to him and nod. 

“I love you.” you speak back he pecks your lips before heading out the door. 

“Maybe he should move in here.” she says. You scoff, shaking your head. 

“I think Glenn and Abraham will miss him..don't you.” you say jokingly. Carol laughs and sets down her plate. 

“Come on..tell me about it.” she giggles and takes a seat you sit across from her and of course her being your best friend begins to tell her everything. 

Later that day you found out Rick and Glenn were joking about Daryl having the bite mark bruise and scratches on his back until you dropped off more weapon supplies and they saw your bruises. 

“So..” Rick asks Daryl once you leave. 

“What..” he huffs reloading a mag. 

“You two have fun?” Glenn chuckles. Dayrl shakes his head. 

“Nah man i don't kiss and tell.” he says.

“Such a gentleman.” Rick jokes 

[hraeesvelgr]

do the people of tumblr care for kamen rider ocs...

more doodles + talking ab them under the cut

im still developing proper lore for them so i dont have toooo much info. what i do have ill put in bullet points, though

- belt functions like a revolver barrel, the riders take a bullet from their belt that represents the form they want, put the bullet in the barrel and spin it, then they shoot it to register the bullet and then start their transformation sequence. in the sequence, a compass-like "shield" forms over the barrel to prevent it from being hit and subsequently detransforming the riders during battle. this shield also points west on kamen rider west, and east on kamen rider bull.

- they've got a wizard & beast-esque thing going on. somewhat rivals but its really one sided. also its much stupider for these two because it's really just a play on the myth of bulls getting angry at the color red :-)

- sometimes west's arrow ends up not landing on west so he has to adjust it to finish his transformation

- the shield on the belt spins and points in all 4 cardinal directions, west uses this to perform finishers (aptly named "cardinal finishers")

- finishers are named [north/east/south/west] finish (single direction finisher), both ways finish (two direction finish), traveling finish (three direction finish), cardinal finish (all 4 cardinals)

- set in the wild west, villains are from the future and are trying to take over from the past going forward by putting super advanced technology into the wrong point in time

- bull used to work for the villains, only because he wanted the power to be a rider like west and to help the townsfolk. he ended up being manipulated by them to think west was in the wrong

- before the villains appeared, west was just a masked cowboy who would help to settle petty disputes in the town he lived in

- west has a horse instead of a motorcycle :-) bull does have a motorcycle, though

- bull's base form finisher is called stampede finish

tldr theyre dumb and dumber

[freyito]

ɢɪʀʟᴅᴀᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴛʜɪʟʟ

✩ inspo: RECENT BOOTHILL LEAKS

★ summary: booty as a girldad...

✧ a/n: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS TO BOOTHILL'S STORY!!!!! THESE ARE BASED OFF OF BOOTHILL LEAKS!!!!!!!!!!! HEAVY HEAVY SPOILERS!!!!! HEAVY SPOILERS!!!!

also i dont normally write stuff like this but oh my fucking god HE HAD A DAUGHTER. here's the fluff i promised after blue veins i guess. dont get too comfortable with it ;)

✦ like my work? feel free to send a request !

🗒 cw: gn reader, written before boothill release/2.2, BOOTHILL LEAKS, he's a good father. sorta, not proofread

✎ wc: 932

Boothill’s censorship comes in handy with the new addition to the family. Granted, he’s really good with watching himself around kids, regardless. He’s really good with kids, he becomes a softer person around them, even softer than he is with you. He’ll let them hang off his arms and draw things on his body, pick them up, and do that thing where he’ll throw them up in the air, spin them around, anything he can to play with the kids.

He starts to come back from missions faster, and spends more time with you and your daughter. He goes from ‘Trouble waits for no one!’ to ‘Trouble can wait a couple more days…’. He makes any little excuse to see her, and by Aeons, if you need a break, he’s more than happy to step in.

He is a total fashionista, too. He loooooooves dressing his daughter up in cute little dresses and overalls, braiding her hair and tying it up in bows. He’ll also let her play with his hair, no matter how frazzled he comes out. He’s content being her model, allowing her to put makeup on him as well. Sure, he’ll look silly, the brightest light blue eyeshadow caked on his eyelids, baby pink cheeks and deep red lipstick, but he feels pretty.

Of course, Boothill still can’t stay around as much as he’d like, he doesn’t want to risk the IPC finding him. He doesn’t want to risk the IPC finding her, specifically. He is too afraid of reliving the same scene, he often dreams of it, and there are times where he cannot tell the difference between his little girl and what was.

That means he’s protective. Even a little scrape and he’s worried, but he tries his best not to suffocate her. He’s worried, yes, but he gives himself space, for his sake and hers. He knows nothing good can come from an overbearing parent.

When she first started to walk he damn near cried, it was the first time you’ve seen him so soft and sappy. Yes, it was an ugly cry. He told everyone he knew that she WALKED! She walked to him! And he almost cries every time.

He’s also managed to keep the guitar he had made for his daughter, and he gifts it to your guys’ daughter. Not because he hopes that she will grow up to be what was, but because he believes it’s a nice memento. Somewhere out there, she’s watching you two build a family together, and she’s watching your little girl dance and play and giggle and even strum that guitar. And she’s happy.

Speaking of, he loves teaching his daughter guitar. Having her sit in his lap while he just strums, or showing her where to put her tiny fingers for certain notes. She’s not quite able to get it, but she laughs all the same, and that couldn’t make him happier.

Keeps every little drawing she makes up on the fridge. You’re starting to run out of space for magnets. Even if he’s not there, he wants her to know she’s an ARTIST. In every sense of the word. From preschool finger painting to elementary school drawings and so forth. Also keeps some folded up drawings in his wallet. His favorite is a stereotypical children’s drawing of you, him, and the house. Except he’s riding a pretty damn cool metal horse, (she named it ‘verminantor’, because she said it was cool. not ‘terminator’, no. ‘verminator’. make sure you get it right. Yes, Boothill named one of his bikes that) shooting his guns towards the sky. A pretty accurate depiction, you have to say.

He’s also really competitive for her. If she’s in any sports, he’s the dad screaming at the top of his lungs to ‘GO GET EM!!!!’ or ‘WIIIIIN!!!!!!’. He’ll get into verbal scuffles with other parents when they ask him to be quieter, because his baby deserves the best, and if the best is the loudest, then that’s what he’ll be.

Boothill is also an amazing storyteller, he can prattle on and on about whichever star system he’s been in for hours, it’s really handy when sending your daughter to sleep. Other kids really like his stories as well, he does his best to keep away from the violent parts (about 70% of his stories), and focus on how beautiful the planet was, or something like that. Most of the time he’ll pepper in stuff about a prince or a dragon or knights (which turned out to be true) to keep it entertaining, but pg for the kids.

He also spoils his daughter ROTTEN. He’ll come back from his little ‘sidequest’ with a bunch of gifts for both of you. He’s got all sorts of stuffed animals for his daughter, shirts, rocks, literally anything he could find that reminded him of her. Anything he could find that he knew she’d like.

He raises a rough n rowdy kid, essentially. The kind of father to let her roll around in the mud ‘cause she’s just havin’ fun’, who brings bugs home just for fun and names them all sorts of cowboy-esc names, (her favorite being Buck Bucksley– ‘it sounds like pa’s favorite word!’ she says, and you shoot him an angry glare. He looks away and shrugs it off, with a ‘I didn’t do nothin’.’) who’s favorite activity is looking for worms in the dirt, a kid who gets up quickly and dusts herself off when she scrapes her knees. And Boothill’s damn proud of her, absolutely gleaming with joy at any little accomplishment.

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